Comics are the most important creative medium. The idea of graphic visual storytelling is as old as humans, if you consider cave paintings and hieroglyphics a form of comics. Telling stories with recognizable images can cross all language barriers and instantly suck readers in. As the film world and the recognized high art gallery scene die under their own weight, comics will be fiddling and watching them pass. That said, half the comics I got since the last review column really sucked.

There are very few people in the comedy world that are blessed with actual funniness. So far our research has brought us David Cross, Jay Johnston, Louis CK, Daniel Kitson, Sarah Silverman and, rumor has it, Tommy Blacha.

If you love watching brutal violence and don't care if it looks like a computer-game trailer starring people who've had plastic surgery, your eyes will slap you high-five if you take them to see 300. The film is based on Frank Miller's retelling of the classic myth where 300 muscleheaded Spartans fight a one-million-strong army of Persian pansies. Like in Sin City, digitally-enhanced people and backdrops are mixed in with live action. But all the visual effects somehow dilute the on-screen carnage - graphic blood is less believable than fake blood used in real films. Do you agree? Watch the trailer after the jump.

Some of us are pooping our pants over the trailer of the upcoming Will Ferrell comedy Blades of Glory, while other, more grumpy folks here of us are going, “Figure skating? Could they have picked a more tired, overdone, easier target to make fun of?” To which we counter: “Did ya see their hairdos?!” So what do you guys think? Anyone seen a test screening? Please follow the continue reading link below to view the trailer and weigh in on this extremely topical, um, topic.

Hopefully by now you’ve been hipped to the hottest new dance music craze: Mash-ups! AKA smashups, bootlegs, booties, bastard pop, blends, or cutups. OMG, these things are totally nuts! You take the vocals of one song (say, “Genie in a Bottle”) and put it on top of the instrumental version of another song (preferably a rock song with a very recognizable riff—“Back in Black,” perhaps?) and voila! You’ve got yourself a kooky “mash-up” that’s sure to be a dance floor smash!

Finally, after umpteen years of getting shitty obscure arty zines in the mail, we receive a nice little piece of gold. "Titty City" is, basically, just a bunch of casual photos of pretty, normal girls, often with their tits out. They may as well have called it "Girlfriend Material." Then there are a few random shots of, I don't know, cars and stuff. We didn't really pay attention to the non-tit shots. A note to aspiring zinemakers: Choose a theme that is undeniably appealing and then beat it into the ground. And to the makers of “Titty City,” make sure you send us Number 2.To get a copy, write to tittycity@gmail.com.

We’re not usually big fans of live theater. It’s just kind of creepy to watch people standing right in front of you playing pretend. And then the actors have to get up there and do it every single night? Why not just film it and have it be done with? But recently our minds have been changed in a big way. Last year’s production of Pippin, performed by the Little Theatre/ACT Quest drama camp ensemble, is total chills from beginning to end. In case you weren’t able to attend this momentous performance, here’s a little snippet of what you missed. Tip: Get your advance tickets now for this summer’s Once Upon A Mattress performances—$5 is a small price to pay for magic.

CBGB: Decades of GraffitiMark Batty PublisherI challenge you to come up with a more embarrassing idea for a book than this: A photo retrospective of the crap people wrote on stuff at CBGB's. And before you go off pshawing about how easy this is is going to be, it can't be abstractly embarrassing, like "Boy, this new Cormac McCarthy book is so bad compared to his old stuff it's embarrassing" or "It's so embarrassing finding out George Clooney is into scat." It has to be a book that you would feel more physically embarrassed to own than this absurdly gay cash-in.

The New York Times review of David Lynch’s new movie is an overblown, florid affair, but it does get one thing unmistakably right. In the little bit at the end where they list why kids shouldn’t see the film (partial female nudity, bloody violence), they also cite the film’s sense of “ubiquitous menace.” That’s pretty much right on. Inland Empire is three hours of ubiquitous menace...